Murder at Beechwood

by Alyssa Maxwell

  I, however, did hesitate, and when Judith realized I wasn’t behind her she stopped and looked up at me.

  “Miss Cross, what are you doing? Why aren’t you coming?” Half of her words were swept away by the wafting breaths of the fire, but I understood her well enough. Even so, I couldn’t set my feet on the steps. Not yet.

  “I have to try!” I shouted back, my only further explanation conveyed by my actions. I moved away from the railing and retreated toward her cabin. She screamed at me. I heard the sound of my name—my first name. But I couldn’t turn back. I had to try. . . .

  I had only been gone a couple of minutes, yet flames all but consumed the cabin now. The heat pushed at me like a furnace blast. The sensation terrified me and called upon all my instincts to run to safety. But a path still existed from the doorway to the young man lying on the floor. Gathering my skirts close around me, I drew a deep breath, held it, and pressed through the smoke. I sensed rather than saw when I’d reached Nate, and in that moment I realized he had awakened. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes blazing as intensely as the flames nipping at his cloak and outer clothing. His trousers—his legs. The odor of burning flesh nearly sickened me, but I bit back my nausea and screamed out his name.

  His face twitched, his eyelids fluttered, but otherwise he gave no sign of hearing or understanding. Certainly he made no move to escape the inferno. Desperately I looked about for something to smother the fire. Little remained of the bed. I remembered my carriage jacket, dropped in a heap outside the door, but it would be no match for the spreading flames. Turning to the window, I grabbed an edge of the damask curtain and tugged until the rod came tumbling down. I fell on my knees beside Nate and beat the balled-up fabric at his legs, his right arm.

  This all passed within seconds. He made no move to help me or to save himself. If I remained in the cabin any longer, we’d both die. The heat of the flames assured me of that. With one last effort, I seized his arm—the one that had not been burned—and put my weight into dragging him across the floor. He half lay on an area rug and this made my task easier. But he was nearly full grown, and his weight far outdid my strength, or should have. How I managed I would never fully understand, but somehow I hauled him clear of the doorway and along the deck toward the outer steps.

  Like a phantom rising from the grave, he suddenly came alive. The strength I had harnessed now failed me. His wrist pulled violently out of my hand and he rolled, coming up on all fours and struggling to his feet. His legs swayed and wobbled. Pain contorted his features. His watering, reddened eyes continued to burn as brightly as the fire.

  “Nate, please, come with me. We’ve got to get off the ship.”

  His gaze searched the skies over the harbor. His cheeks were soot blackened, and what skin showed through was scarlet and blistered. “Father, I tried my best.”

  “Nate! Listen to me!” I bounded forward, but he was too quick and lurched out of reach, at the same time holding up his charred arm to shield himself as if from attack. From down the deck, at the stop of the steps, came a shout. My name. An entreaty to move.

  Jesse.

  I glanced over my shoulder for the briefest instant, and in that moment Nate darted back to Judith’s cabin.

  “Nate, no!” My shout tore painfully from my smoke-roughened throat. I felt shredded inside, burned and half-dead.

  Nate paused in the doorway, the angry orange glow inside framing him as though he were a demon at the gates of hell. “I continued his work,” he shouted in a voice that grated like steel claws. “He can see me. He approves of me now. They betrayed him, and I’ve made it right. All of them. They got what they deserved.”

  “No, Nate. Please.” I started forward, but arms locked around me from behind, pulling me away.

  “The fireboat can’t start spraying until you’re out of the way,” Jesse pleaded in my ear. He forcefully turned me about. In my last glimpse of Nate, he turned as calmly as a man without a care in the world and walked into the flames.

  Blind instinct must have taken over then, for I can conjure no memory of descending to the waiting cutter. I have only Jesse’s assurance that I did so by the power of my own two legs, and that my resilience made him proud.

  Once ensconced in the safety of the rescue boat, someone tucked a blanket around my shoulders. I’d lost my carriage jacket somewhere back on the ship, and I’d been shivering beneath my cotton blouse. I found myself pressed up against Judith’s side. Her mother sat at Judith’s other side along the built-in wooden bench, and she reached over to cover our clasped hands with her own. This newfound affection served to heighten my disorientation and my sense of bewilderment. Were they not the very same women who had scoffed at me these many days?

  I didn’t have the energy—or the heart—to be angry with them or even skeptical of their present motives. It was enough that we were alive. The rest could be sorted out later.

  Jesse asked us a few questions about what we had witnessed on the yacht.

  “It was Nate Monroe,” I said numbly. “Nate all along.”

  Arrow-like, Jesse’s brows drew inward. “He admitted this to you?”

  “In so many words, yes. I don’t understand it all yet.... I don’t know why, but Nate said he did it for his father.”

  “For Virgil? Then who killed Virgil? Wyatt?” Jesse, crouched on the floor before me, sat back on his heels. “I thought we’d have our answer. Instead, we have more questions.”

  Again, I decided we would sort it out later. Judith had fallen silent during Jesse’s questions, letting me do the talking for her. An odd tremor passed from her side into mine, one that suggested she perhaps knew something the rest of us didn’t.

  “Don’t argue with me once we return to town,” Jesse said when we put into Long Wharf. He leaped onto the pier before the crewmen had a chance to extend the gangway. Once they did, Jesse extended a hand to help me across, then did the same for Mrs. Andrews and Judith.

  A well-meaning swarm immediately surrounded us—officials, Life-Saving Service personnel, residents of the nearby Point neighborhood, even tipsy sailors and fishermen from the harborside taverns. Though I welcomed their collective concern, the myriad faces and voices assailed my senses like the whirling chaos of a carnival. Even Judith shrank from the attention. Her mother scowled, though she voiced no complaints.

  Jesse herded us through the crowd to waiting vehicles. It was there I finally replied to his earlier command that we not argue with him.

  “Honestly, I don’t have the wherewithal, but why would we disagree?”

  “Because you are all three going to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine, Jesse—”

  “There you go. Arguing. Well, be advised it won’t do you a lick of good.” He turned to mother and daughter. “Help me convince Miss Cross she has no choice but to accompany us to the hospital.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Judith said in a weary voice, “is that necessary?”

  “I believe so, dear.” With a sob, Mrs. Andrews pulled her daughter into her embrace. “Besides,” she said in a choked voice, “where else do we have to go?”

  “We could go to Derrick’s house, couldn’t we?”

  Mrs. Andrews pulled back to regard her daughter, her eyes magnified by tears. “Why, yes, darling. We could go to Derrick’s.” Her gaze darted to me, and I saw the deep significance of what had just passed between them. This morning, or even an hour ago, Judith would not have suggested any scenario that included her brother. Had her anger dissipated into smoke and flame?

  Jesse stepped closer to them, and I have no doubt his drum-like, reverberating footfalls against the planks were no accident. He wanted our attention and our compliance. “No one is going anywhere until they’ve been seen by a doctor.”

  When we arrived I allowed myself to be prodded. The doctor held a stethoscope to my front and my back while I breathed in deep and coughed. He tried advising me, but I couldn’t listen; too many other thoughts raced through my mind. Fortunately, my
old friend Hannah Hanson saw me arrive with the Andrews women. She listened to the doctor for me and wrote down everything he said.

  “Emma, you should let us admit you. You’ve breathed in quite a lot of smoke. I cannot impress upon you enough how dangerous that can be.”

  Hannah’s warning broke through the miasma that had taken hold of me. “Dangerous? But I’m breathing. I’m fine.”

  “Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? He heard a slight wheeze. Your condition could worsen. You need rest.”

  I knew she was right and I had no intention of exerting myself, but neither would I allow anyone to tuck me into bed, extinguish the lights, and shut the door. I had more to do. I was about to tell Hannah so, when Brady and Marianne burst into the examination room.

  “Good God, Em, we could see the fire from Third Street. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Brady. You needn’t worry.”

  Marianne said nothing, just took up position at my side like a bodyguard. I introduced her to Hannah, and Brady’s eyebrows surged in surprise.

  “Little Hannah Hanson?” He surveyed her from head to foot in a way that would have been far too familiar—and disrespectful—if we hadn’t known each other all our lives and played together regularly as children.

  “It’s good to see you again, Brady.” Hannah smiled and extended her hand.

  I could see Brady bursting with questions and a desire to become reacquainted—Hannah had blossomed into an attractive young woman—but now was no time to become distracted.

  “Hannah,” I interrupted Brady’s inquiries about her time in Providence, “was Judith Kingsley admitted?”

  “Yes, she’s upstairs.”

  I jolted. “Not in her brother’s former room, I hope?”

  “Of course not. She’s in the women’s ward. There aren’t currently any other patients there with her, so it’s like a private room.”

  “Thank goodness. May she have visitors?”

  “I’ll check with the doctor, but I believe it would be permitted.”

  I spoke next to Brady. “Did you see Jesse on your way in?”

  “In the waiting room. He was taking a statement from Mrs. Andrews.”

  I hopped down from the examination table. “I need to speak with him immediately.”

  “Em . . .”

  “It’s late, Brady,” I said on my way out of the room. “Please take Marianne home.”

  I found Jesse sitting with Mrs. Andrews. They spoke quietly, and Jesse took notes. They looked up when I entered the room.

  “Emma. We’re about finished here for now and I was just coming to see you. Are you up to answering a few questions?”

  “I am, but not here.”

  Looking puzzled, he asked, “Where, then?”

  “In Mrs. Kingsley’s room. But first we need Derrick here. Jesse, you’ve got to give the order to have him brought over.”

  “He isn’t completely exonerated yet, Emma. Nate might be responsible for Wyatt and that young girl—”

  “Naomi,” I firmly reminded him.

  “Yes, Naomi.” He sighed, a forlorn, gusty sound. “But it’s almost certain Nate didn’t kill his father. Not where he was positioned on the Vigilant.”

  “I agree,” I said evenly. “Nate didn’t murder his father. But I believe I know who did.”

  Chapter 18

  I refused to say more until Derrick arrived and the doctor could be persuaded to allow several of us to enter Judith’s room at once. While Jesse explained to the man the urgency of our request in terms of his ongoing murder investigation, I made a telephone call. Stella answered; she was already up, having just fed Robbie his nighttime bottle. I told her what I needed and hung up.

  Then I ran upstairs to check on Uncle Cornelius. I ground to a sudden halt in the doorway. “Neily!” I whispered in surprise.

  He sat in a chair just beyond the foot of the bed, away from the dim shafts of light from the street lanterns outside. “What are you doing here this time of night, Emmaline?”

  I entered the room, walking on tiptoe to avoid waking Uncle Cornelius. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Reggie’s been keeping me informed on the sly. He tracked me down tonight with a message that Mother had finally gone home for some sleep. I took the opportunity to come and sit with Father.”

  “Does he know?” I went to Neily and put a hand on his shoulder. “Has he awakened?”

  “No, and if he did he would probably order me away.”

  “Oh, Neily.” I wanted to reassure him that his father would do no such thing, but after what I’d witnessed at The Breakers, I couldn’t with any honesty speak those words. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are.” He craned his neck to look up at me, his eyes shining in the darkness. “Thank you for being my friend, Emmaline.”

  I bent down and hugged him.

  “You haven’t said what brought you here. Is someone at Gull Manor ill?” His face filled with alarm. “Robbie?”

  “No,” I hastened to assure him. “You needn’t worry about him. Oh, Neily . . .”

  I sank to my knees beside his chair and he took my hands in his own. “You’re frightening me, Emmaline. What is it?”

  “Tonight has been awful. A young girl died and . . . Nate Monroe is dead, too.”

  “Nate? My God . . .”

  “He’s our murderer.”

  “He killed his own father?” Revulsion filled Neily’s voice.

  I shook my head. “No, not his father. But the others.” The sounds of low murmurs and ascending footsteps echoed in the stairwell. I held the arm of Neily’s chair and pressed to my feet. “Don’t stay much longer.” I glanced at his father’s sleeping form, wondering when he might awaken. Praying he’d awaken with his old self still intact.

  Neily understood my meaning and nodded. “I’ll leave soon.”

  “Go to Gull Manor. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Brady’s home now, too.”

  “Yes, all right. Thank you, Emmaline.”

  I left and met the others on the landing. Together, Jesse, Scotty Binsford—there to take notes—Mrs. Andrews, Derrick, and I filed into Judith’s room, with the doctor following in the rear, undoubtedly to make sure we didn’t overtax the patient. Hannah had remained downstairs, as I had asked her to.

  Although I knew full well what Judith had endured earlier, her appearance nonetheless shocked me. No longer wearing the finery in which I’d grown accustomed to seeing her, and surrounded instead by stark, white linens and the even starker gray-white of the walls, she seemed smaller and younger, uncharacteristically docile. All the enmity once directed at me, her brother, and seemingly the world at large had been leeched away. As she gazed up at us all with glistening, sunken eyes, I couldn’t help but think of dear cousin Consuelo, shaken and pale after one of her mother’s tirades. Yet Judith had suffered much worse than a browbeating, and seeing her now in this tenuous condition—both physically and mentally—made me ashamed for ever having judged her. I should have known better. Should have remembered an ill-tempered disposition almost always stemmed from profound unhappiness.

  Would I remedy that tonight? Could I right the innumerous wrongs of the past many days and weeks?

  Derrick and I hadn’t spoken since his arrival. We traded only one glance—his bewildered and somewhat wary, as if he didn’t trust what appeared to be my latest whim, and mine an attempt to silently persuade him to trust me. After that I looked away, for if my plan didn’t work, if my guesses proved incorrect, he would be taken back into custody. And that was a possibility I could not bring myself to acknowledge openly between us.

  As we all took up positions around Judith’s room, Jesse broke the rigid silence. “All right, Emma. You called this meeting. Perhaps now you’ll explain why.”

  I raised a quick, wordless request that my aunt Sadie lend me a bit of her pluck. I would need it to prevail in the next several moments. Can one feel fortified and apprehensive at the same time? I d
id as I walked to the foot of the bed, from where Judith could meet my gaze without having to twist her neck.

  “Mrs. Kingsley, it is time for the entire truth to come out.” Her expression immediately became shuttered and I held up a hand. “No, Mrs. Kingsley. Judith, if I may. The time for reticence is long past. People have died. A coach driver. Virgil Monroe. His brother, Wyatt. A maid—one I believe you knew. And now young Nate Monroe.”

  Her mouth gaped. A few of those tears swimming in her eyes spilled over.

  Heat buffeted my back and a voice spoke in my ear. “Now, see here, Emma. If you’re implying that any of this is my sister’s fault—”

  I spun around to behold Derrick’s handsome and, yes, angry features, yet I directed my next comment to everyone in the room. “No, not her fault. But all roads do lead back to Judith.” I faced the bed once more. “Don’t they?”

  Her answer came like a faint stirring of wind across a headland. “Yes.”

  “Then stop me when I am incorrect.” She nodded, her gaze never leaving mine. I was about to continue, but found I couldn’t, not where I stood, at the foot of the bed looking down at her. My stance suddenly felt accusatory, as if I intended casting judgment, which I did not. I came around the bed and sat beside her knees, facing her. She didn’t resist when I took her hand.

  “You and Virgil Monroe had . . . an intimate association, yes?”

  Behind me, her mother gasped. Even from across the room, and without my having to see him, I felt Derrick tense. If Judith noticed, she ignored them. She ignored everyone else in the room, her attention riveted on me.

  “It began last summer,” she said in a small voice. “When I came out of mourning. I was so lonely and he—he was so kind. So comforting. For a time,” she added with a bitter note.

  “And you became with child.” She didn’t respond, but she didn’t correct me either. Her mother, to her credit, remained silent. Derrick swore so softly I might have imagined it. I heard his step, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him take up my former place at the foot of the bed. With both hands he gripped the iron bedstead, his knuckles whitening.